


Louder than Words

by SectoBoss



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: M/M, Post-expedition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SectoBoss/pseuds/SectoBoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the expedition Emil and Lalli finally have some time to themselves. They make it count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louder than Words

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm not making a habit of this, although by the looks of it I might be trying to make lightning strike twice!  
> This is a direct sequel to my previous work ['By Surprise'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250846).

Oh this isn’t fair. This really isn’t fair, you know! 

I’ve known how to wear a tie since I was five years old. I still remember the little mantra my dad taught me: _over and under, over and under, tickle your chin…_ No. No, I’ve messed it up again. Now the damn thing’s about ten centimetres long and has a tail that reaches down to my knees. 

I can’t go before the leaders of the known world looking like _this!_ What would they all think? “Oh, here he comes, Emil Västerström, he’s Torbjörn’s nephew isn’t he, promising young lad – oh, what’s this? He can’t even do his tie up properly? What a disgrace!” 

And it’s all your fault, Lalli. Yes, it is. You’re distracting me. 

We’ve got about two hours before we all have to go downstairs to that dinner they’re putting on for us – the Heroes of Copenhagen, they’re calling us! – and you’re just lying there, sprawled out on that sofa like you own it. I can see you in the mirror as I’m trying to get my tie right. I both really wish I couldn’t, and am incredibly glad I can. 

God, how do you _manage_ that? I’m completely certain you’d never even heard of a suit before Uncle Torbjörn handed you one to wear tonight. And yet I used to know people in Mora who spent small fortunes trying to look half as good as you do now. 

You’ve managed to turn not knowing how to wear a suit into an art form. That grey hair of yours, still slightly damp from the shower you’ve just had, messy but not wild. Charcoal jacket open, waistcoat open, hell, you’ve even left the top two buttons of your shirt undone too. I’m trying not to think too hard about that excellent view of your collarbones. Thin legs in those trousers, dangling idly over the arm of the sofa. For some reason you’re only wearing one sock. Even the expression on your face – bored out of your mind, by the looks of you, but you manage to make it look deliberate. Like you’re waiting on me or Reynir to do something interesting. 

There’s a babble I don’t understand from across the room and I turn around. Reynir’s stood there in nothing but a towel, pointing at the shower. My eyes do reach his face, eventually. 

“I still can’t understand you, Reynir,” I say. And I know he doesn’t know what I’m saying either. I’d love to get my hands on whoever decided to put the three people who can’t understand each other in the same hotel room. Probably Mikkel, or maybe his Icelandic cousin. 

Reynir babbles some more and points to the shower again. I think he’s trying to speak slowly and clearly in the hope that I’ll somehow magically understand him all of a sudden. Instead I’m just trying not to pay too obvious attention to the physique a life of farm work apparently gives you. I swear, between what you’re wearing and what he isn’t there aren’t many places where it’s safe for me to look anymore. I hope no-one’s noticed. 

“What, you want to use the shower or something? Yes, fine. Go!” I wave him away and turn back to the mirror. Behind me the en-suite door clicks closed and a moment later I hear the hiss of running water. 

It takes me what feels like a thousand more tries but I finally get my tie done up and step back from the mirror, giving myself a final glance in it. You look up as I walk over and sit down on the edge of one of the beds, regarding me over that ice-cold bottle of fruit juice you took from the minibar a while ago. 

“Took me forever,” I say, pointing to my tie with a wan smile. I can’t help but notice you haven’t even bothered with yours. It’s just slung around your neck and draped down your shoulders. Sky-blue, it matches your eyes. 

By the look on your face it never occurred to you that you were meant to _do_ anything with your tie. And before I know what I’m really doing I’m jumping forward to help. 

“Here, let me.” I have to kneel down next to the sofa to reach. You just stare at me as I start to knot it around your neck. I can feel the weight of your gaze on me and it suddenly occurs to me that if I had so much trouble doing my own tie, trying to get yours right might not have been such a good idea. 

“You don’t have to stare so much…” is about as far as I get before you lazily reach out and run your fingers around the edge of my ear and my mind goes completely and utterly blank. 

“Lalli, what-” 

And then your palm rests against my cheek. Your fingertips are cold from the bottle you’ve been drinking from but your palm still has the heat from the shower on it. The contrast makes my head spin a little. I’m still kneeling next to you like a statue as you roll over, sit up and take my head in both hands. Your fingers cover my ears and it feels like the whole world’s been wiped away. All I can hear is the heat of your hands. 

There’s a smile I’ve never seen before tugging and twisting your lips but I don’t get to see it for long because you pull me up gently towards you and our lips finally meet. 

Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited? For this? I don’t even try and hide the sigh of happiness and relief as your mouth moves against mine, as our tongues meet in the middle, as I taste the lingering flavour of summer fruits from that drink on your lips. Your hands massage my jaw, palms against my cheeks and ears, and then move upwards. My scalp tingles where you absently trace small circles across it, twirling and massaging my hair between your fingers as we kiss. I brace myself against you, my thumbs on your collarbones, fingers on your shoulders, feeling the strong ridges of bone just under your skin. 

I don’t know how long we stay like that. I want to say forever. 

But you break it off eventually, pushing my head back, cradling it in your hands like I’m an interesting seashell you’ve picked up on a beach. The look on your face, that cocky little grin that I’d never have imagined on you in a million years, makes me swallow nervously. It promises so many things. 

You whisper something and look towards the room’s en-suite. I still can’t speak a word of Finnish but four months has left me with a good idea of what you’re trying to say. We don’t have a lot of time. So we’d better not waste it. 

All of a sudden your hands are on my sides and I’m being guided onto the sofa next to you. I sit down heavily, nearly tripping over my own feet, and you have to scoot out of the way to avoid me landing right on top of you. You stifle a laugh at my clumsiness and before I can even think of a response you’re kissing me again. 

We’re faster, more insistent this time. We find a rhythm and fall into it. My hands move down your back, over your jacket, and yours find their way to my front. You start to unbutton my shirt, starting from the bottom, grinning even as we kiss at the little yelps and moans I make when your still-cool fingertips brush against the skin of my belly. I can’t help it, I want to say, I’ve always been sensitive there, but we wouldn’t have time for words even if we could understand each other. 

Now my shirt’s unbuttoned, only my tie remains, and you’re looking at the knot like it’s your mortal enemy. My turn to laugh now. I undo it faster than I ever managed to tie it and toss it to one side. You slip my shirt over my shoulders, let it crumple to the floor, bring your hands back to my chest. I move to do the same to you, tugging your jacket off, wincing as you have to pull your hands away to let it fall and sighing happily as they find their way back. I try to unbutton your shirt as well, but you bat my hands away before guiding them round to your back, up and under the thin material, running them along your spine. I can feel your ribcage, the swell of you as you breathe, the faint pumping of your heart, fast and getting faster. 

Again you break the kiss. I don’t mind. Our mouths separate but our foreheads gently bump together. At this distance I can barely even get my eyes to focus on you. Your eyes wander down me, slowly, and your hands follow. Your fingers run over my chest, trace the outlines of the muscles there, patter down across my belly, run a lazy circle around my navel. And keep going. Down to my trousers, undoing the belt and the zip, pushing them back. 

You don’t start immediately, like I thought you were going to. Instead you take your time. Fingertips run down my inner thighs and I’ll never know how I keep it together. I clench my teeth and you just smile and wet your lips, your tongue a little pink triangle that flashes between them for a second, and now you move closer, back up my thighs, closer still. It suddenly strikes me that I’m sat here mostly naked and you’re still in your smart shirt and trousers. I wonder if you like it that way. I can’t say I don’t. 

I’m so lost in the bliss of this that it takes me a long time to notice that I can’t hear running water from the shower anymore. 

And then there’s the quiet _clack_ of a door being unlatched and opened and my heart genuinely sinks, seems to grow five times heavier and sag in my chest. _Oh, crap._

“Oh! Umm… guys… what…” 

Turns out I can understand some Icelandic after all. 

I don’t even look round to face Reynir. I know what I’ll see – him in his towel, his mouth hanging open and a furious blush spreading across his face. If I believed in gods I’d be cursing every last one of them right now. This is going to be hell. 

But you, Lalli, you seem to have a different idea. 

At first you look up with annoyance on your face that makes mine look pale by comparison, but then that grin tugs at your lips again. You’re up and across the room to him before I’ve even started putting my trousers back on. 

I still don’t know what it is you two do when you need to talk. Tuuri explained it to me once. You sleep, but not quite – just a few seconds of semi-consciousness, enough to send a few words to each other. I’m still not sure I believe in all that if I’m honest, although I don’t know how else to explain some of what I saw you do in Copenhagen. Either way, I look round just in time to see you put your fingers to his head, that quick flicker of blue in your eyes, and then he blinks and takes a step back. 

He’s staring at you now, wide-eyed and confused, and then that confusion changes to another expression that I _never_ expected to see on his face. 

How you talked him into what happens next I’ll never understand. But if the other option was to have us all sit around awkwardly and pretend he hadn’t seen anything, I’m going to count my blessings. 

I’ve never done anything like this. I doubt you have either and as for Reynir… But we make it work, somehow. The three of us, no language to guide us, using the shared language of lips and hands, caresses and strokes. I lose myself in the two of you, your mouths and your touch. His grip is gentler than yours, your kisses firmer. Where you hiss and growl, he moans and gasps. Both of you whisper things to me that I can’t understand, but don’t need to. 

At last we are done, but we stay together for a moment. Reynir nuzzles my chest sleepily as I toy idly with his hair, you patter your fingers up and down my arm in a way I might think was impatient if I couldn’t see your satisfied face. 

Eventually I stand up, walk over to where I dropped my clothes and fish my watch out of my pocket. 

_Damnit.  
_

We are definitely going to be late.


End file.
